Deperate Need of Unloved Souls
by LadyChampagne
Summary: Not really a love story: Harry is desperate after the death of his godfather; Harry gradually worsens into insanity as he clings ferociously to Ron; Ron can't say no to the broken wizard even as Draco Malfoy realizes what is going on and takes advantage.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: (Not a love story, not really.) Harry is desperate after the death of his godfather; Harry gradually worsens into insanity as he clings ferociously to Ron; Ron can't say no to the broken wizard even as Draco Malfoy realizes what is going on and takes advantage.

Notes from the Author: I am not JK Rowling and therefore do not own any part of nor make prophet from her story (nor mine, the following); though I do use her characters who I've stolen for filthy purposes.

Warning: Please bear with me and forgive the discrepancies between my story and JK Rowling's. . . also, point out discrepancies and I will amend the tale for you!

RATED M for Mature: explicit homosexual relationships between Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, and Ron and Draco malfoy

**ONE: End of 6th Year**

Sentimental indigo eyes opened slowly to a gradually brightening rosey-and-golden glow, and a jaw-cracking yawn greeted a small, private bedroom decorated in subtle shades of green and silver. If there was one thing those almond-shaped eyes admired, it was the nifty charm that allowed a beautiful sunrise into the otherwise deep darkness of Hogwart's dungeon dormitories.

Lurking forebodingly in one shadowed corner was a plump, dark green chair upon which was a haphhazard pile of most of Ronald Weasley's school uniform. (Later, it wouldn't surprise Ron to see that the fierce red and gold badge that declared his alligiance to a different school founderwould have mysteriously disappeared, leaving mere tatters in its place). Across from the large bed upon which rested two young wizards, including Ron, was a desk which was askew as a result of the ferocity of their previous evening engagement. Ron snorted softly as he remembered being shoved none too gently into the poor desk, which had failed to retreat hastily enough to avoid the confrontation, it being rather bulky to begin with and furthermore encumbered by school paraphernalia. Indeed Ron felt a sore spot on his lower back as he shifted his nude hips experimentally. He shuddered, too, as the silky black sheets gently brushed his thick, sensitive cock, which rested innocently below as if it had had nothing to do with Ron's current predicament. His full, reddened lips were bruised and a bit bloody as well, but he was well used to that particular dull pain and thought nothing more of it as he rolled over to gaze at the sleek skin of his partner's long torso.

_'How did it come to this?'_ Ron thought with incredulity as he ghosted a freckled hand over the familiar pale figure lying slim and supple to his right. _'How did I end up here, of all places?' _The thoughts were as close to him as his skin, a constant phrase repeated innumerable times recently. It was now the end of his sixth year attending the prestigious school of witchcraft and wizardry. A length of time which, somewhat insignificant for those who were ignorant of the magic shaded just to the left of muggle existance, had altered the redhead's reality in such a shattering way that he no longer knew what to make of himself, or his future. He was displaced, a confused counterversion of his former boisterous, Gryffindor self.

Voldemort's final harrowing onslaught, which had badly damaged Hogwarts and was now sorrowfully referred to as the Children's Battle, was fresh in the minds of all witches and wizards of Britain, none moreso than Ron who had found himself intimately entwined in the lives of several key participants. But the Childern's Battle had not, surprisingly, been the worst bit of the year for the young man.

Had Ron stolen a time-turner and gone back to warn himself of future events, he still would never have believed that he would be secreting the dungeons to end up in this treacherous bed. He thought at least he would have ended up with beautiful, bold Hermione, for Merlin's sake! She had appreciated the height and muscle that had accompanied his growth into adulthood when Ron himself had been too depressed to notice. Ron had only noticed Harry's eyes and their constant grim gaze, Harry's tight, intense focus when the Boy-Who-Lived had thought nobody else would notice (but somebody had). Ron shuddered and placed his heavy head in his large, warm hands as he recalled Harry's voice near the end of it all, that snarling, insane rough quality that had unleashed the terrible curse upon his one-time best friend and forced lover. The cruelty and malice lacing those words had ingrained within Ron's memories and would torment the innocuous youth for many years to come, even as the rest blurred slightly and rested itself down.

Ron thought sadly that he never would have believed Harry could have deteriorated to such a disturbing state either. The ferocious young wizard would not be returning to Hogwarts for seventh year, and Ron was one of few people who knew it was unlikely any of them would ever see their Savior again.

_'Harry...'_ Ron swallowed his grief and sighed. His pain was still so fresh that he decided to think no more of his former best-friend and instead leaned over to nip at one tempting, muscular shoulder of his unlikley companion. A flash of a heated jade stare pierced his mind and stilled his body, but only momentarily. Ron angrily shook his head, dislodging the disturbing spear of memory, and worked his soft, malleable mouth down the welcoming bounty of flesh, disappearing below the sheet to nuzzle a stiffening cock which was more slender but had more length than his own.

At this point, an exceptionally sated yet eager Draco Malfoy awoke to reveal cunning, quicksilver eyes and a triumphant smile.


	2. Chapter 2: Summer before 6th year

**Summer before Sixth Year:**

Summertime was glorious that year; light and heat rolled down so bountifully that even the most sun-deprived people had their fill and the shyest small tendrils of green life unfurled to greet the season.

Unfortunately there was no joyful revelry inside of a suspiciously lopsided countryside dwelling, which looked to be constructed solely by the powers of good cheer and will-power (if one was disinclined to understanding the tingles of magical power surrounding the homey shack). Although nearly the entire red-headed Weasley clan was present that evening, conversation at the large dinner table was unusually oppressed. Requests were murmured and thanks nearly whispered as plentiful dishes of aromatic food were levitated back and forth, punctuated with surreptitious glances toward a thin, dark figure picking sparingly at his plate.

This surly young wizard was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Savior of the Light. Harry who had unexpectantly shown up on the Weasley's doorstep not three weeks previously. The dark-haired youth had been completely dishheveled and hurt, though most noteable and dangerously, had been totally alone. Harry, who hadn't been out of Ron's bed in nearly a week. Harry, who Ron had found at the bottom of the pond just beyond the hill on the other side of the road, having rather romantically and tragically spelled his body to feel the physical weight of his dark and heavy emotions. Harry who was completely without regret and who hadn't said two words since.

Ron was trying his best to maintain a facade of healthy joviality, but his efforts were so obviously strained that he soon slumped in defeat, having no appetite himself. After a few more tense minutes, everybody started as a grave voice spoke, seemingly dragged from the depths of wherever Harry had been dwelling in his mind. "May I please be excused?" Arthur and Molly exchanged a sad look at the little amount Harry had eaten, which was more than he had consumed all day. "Of course, dear." Molly finally intoned, and with only a slight hesitation as he passed Ron's chair, Harry was gone.

Ron glanced with sympathetic worry at his family and then toward Hermione, feeling a new warmth in his chest as she smiled bravely, giving him the strength to push back his chair and follow his best friend upstairs. Though Hermione gave Ron strength, Harry for whatever reason refused to see her. Ron was given sudden insight into his other best friend's strength of character as Hermione dismissed Harry's selfish reasoning and stayed for him, even after the hurt the dark-haired wizard had dealt her. She and Ron had spoken intimately and pensively every night since the day Harry had tried to drown himself and Ron was grateful for her solid presence and strength of spirit. In this time of woe, she had become beautiful to Ron, and he had a hard time not blushing and not staring at her with the frank interest he would have under other circumstances. As it was, her beauty and his own lustful and loving attraction was thrust aside for the undetermined future. Ron simply couldn't handle it; he realized as he tried touching himself at night in the makeshift cot he called his bed for now, but even as he pictured Hermione's beautiful round breasts (how would their weight feel in his palms? How would her hardening nipples taste to his inexperienced, longing tongue?) and mound of supposedly brown, soft hair below (what would her wet heat be like, tight and demanding on his throbbing cock?), he couldn't arouse himself as Harry lay in deadly silence beside him.

Ron walked up the narrow hallway of his childhood home and stopped at his open door to look in: Harry had left it open, knowing Ron would follow. He wasn't left alone now, and it was almost always Ron who followed. Ron swallowed a painful lump as impromptu tears burned his sinuses. If he hadn't decided to follow Harry that day. . . He didn't know how he would be able to function if anything happened to Harry, especially when the boy was within arm's reach from Ron. _'Harry might be their Savior'_, Ron suddenly thought fiercely, clenching his fists angrily and feeling blood rush to his cheeks,_ 'but I can save him. I know I can.'_

Ron stood in the doorway and watched as the boy of his thoughts sat, staring dejectedly at limp hands resting on his knobby knees. It was obvious to Ron that Harry had been tormenting himself by thinking of Sirius, obvious in the way Ron's borrowed pants, though slim enough, were baggy on his best friend from his lack of appetite. Obvious in how introverted Harry had been when he had entered the Burrow, how Harry had refused to talk about the suspicious bruises and tender cuts along his arms and legs. Obvious as Ron had gazed into the familiar jade eyes and found them dull and listless and shadowed with a terrible ache for which he had no words.

And suddenly Harry was crying. Ron hadn't noticed at first in his anger at the injustice thrust upon his dearest companion, but soon the hurt became audible and Ron quickly shut the door and knelt on the floor before the wretched boy. "Harry?" Ron questioned softly as he lay tentative hands on the thin legs. He moved carefully and with a small blossoming hope; this was the first time Harry had seemed responsive to anything, the first time in too long that the boy seemed to be feeling. As Harry's sobs grew louder in anguish, his young body began to shake, wracked by the force of his despair and desperation. Ron ran his hands up and down the long legs, making soothing shushing noises, feeling helpless and unsure. Should he call his parents? Ron's emotions waged war on his reasonable senses.

_'What would Hermione do?' _Ron no sooner thought before he acted. He threw his long, strong, healthy arms around his smaller friend and drew Harry in, feeling sobs breaking against his chest. To Ron's immense relief, Harry reacted to his embrace and quieted after a few minutes of forceful sorrow. The darker boy had finally physically manifestated his mental torment, but what would follow? Ron's unspoken question was answered as Harry's thin, childlike voice breezed up from Ron's broad chest.

"I don't have anybody. I'm alone. Sirius is dead, my family is dead. Even Cedric. . . And I couldn't save him. I can't save anybody. Everybody's dead, and I should be too." Ron's heart broke at the pathetic, fearful whisper and his own pent-up tears spilled forth, silent trails down his smooth, boyish cheeks and strong, manly jaw. He shook his head negatively as he pulled back to gaze into the sad face of his closest friend. "Harry we all love you! Don't say those things." Ron replied earnestly, even as a sick feeling of awful understanding rose in his gut and clouded his mind. He knew then, looking into those jade eyes which were so changed from when they had first met, that Harry, his Harry, his best friend, was broken. Somehow, along the painful existance that constantly bombarded Harry with hardship and heartache, something had snapped, and now. . . Ron shuddered and tried to blink his revelation away. Something was terribly wrong inside of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Ron continued rubbing Harry's legs and tried to reinforce his claim, tried to tell Harry how much he mattered. He spoke of Hermione, waiting patiently downstairs, and of his own family who loved Harry like a son. As he spoke and rubbed soothingly, Harry's eyelids drifted lower until he looked to be enchanted from Ron's voice. ". . . And Harry," Ron broke and his voice cracked with emotion and his hands stilled, "If anything happened to you, I don't know what I'd do. I love you." Ron bit back a sob and closed his eyes, swallowing his emotions. When he opened them, he was startled to find burning green ones staring back at him with a spark of interest that was quickly becoming more intense. And suddenly Ron felt an odd frission of fear creeping up his spine, chilling his skin. Harry's eyes were quickening, burning with unnerving focus, his face tight with emotion, all of it directed at Ron. Ron watched, still and uncertain, as Harry leaned in, and then suddenly Ron was pulled between the same legs he'd been caressing. Ron had been perched on now-sore knees, and so tumbled foreward with the unexpected jerk.

And then Harry kissed him. With a hot tongue forcing its way through shock-slackened lips and a tight grip on Ron's long, gently waving red locks.

_'Oh, God'_, Harry thought as he crushed his lips feverishly into Ron's soft face. He was still sobbing inside, still wretched and incomplete. But he was tired, so fucking tired of feeling nothing, of feeling this goddamn numbness, that he had tried to leave the world behind. . . and Ron had saved him. Ron was his Savior, his personal wonderboy in such terrible darkness, such loneliness. . . And now, Ron touched him, and Harry felt again. As his handsome Savior had talked to him, Harry hadn't defined the words, only the mellifluous nature of the beautiful boy's deepening voice. His best friend was turning into an adult, Harry had thought abstractly as Ron had rubbed his legs soothingly. A young man of reason, of warmth. . . he really was warm, Harry had thought vaguely.

". . . I love you." Ron had sobbed, and that, Harry had understood. Suddenly he was aware again, so very aware, of the air surrounding him, of the heat coming from a sobbing Ron, and of those big, thick hands on his legs, sending forgotten thrills to his spine. It had been so long since he'd felt anything. Harry had stared into those remarkable eyes, an unusual cobalt blue and so intense in the young man's sorrow. And then Harry knew what he wanted, and he was going to get it for once in his pathetic life.

Hermione stood at the door, silent and stunned. She saw Ron, stiff and uncertain, and Harry, arms desperately tight around Ron's neck as he kissed the red-head. It was incredibly surreal for the young woman. Hermione turned around and went to the livingroom where she legitimately ignored the unconventionally slow bustle of Weasley activity surrounding her. She sat, almost refusing to process the sight of Ron kissing Harry, or rather being kissed by someone other than herself. Her thoughts ran undirected for once as she unconsiously allowed hurt to blanket her recent attraction for her very good friend, whom she had thought was becoming more in the wake of their shared tragedy. Ron, who's lean muscles and kind mouth had snared her attention, who's easy laughter and long hair trail upon his tight, tanned stomach she often envisioned at night, causing a frenzy of single-minded activity under her lonely sheets. She felt ill as she sensed some deeper betrayal ripping apart her budding romance and set her mouth in a grim line.

In the tense atmosphere of her mind, feeling worse than ever due to Harry's actions, Hermione did the only thing she could. She waited.

Some time later, Ron emerged downstairs. He saw Hermione first, though frowned when she didn't return his tentative smile. Then he addressed his family; the twins who were so somber these days and sticking around in case their loving parents needed them, and Ginnie who hadn't said much to anyone and always looked as if she'd been crying. His parents stared at him for news, as usual, with stress evident on their kind faces. Ron wished he could soothe their worries. He knew they had contacted his exalted and powerful Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, when Harry had first appeared in his terrible state, and the decorated wizard had reasoned that Harry, being a young adult and as stubborn as one, could not be dissuaded to leave the Burrow. Then again, when Harry had shocked them all with his attempted suicide, his protective and selfless parents had pleaded for help from the worried Headmaster, Harry's only trustworthy guardian. Albus had visited and, with every youth obviously spying in on their grave conversation courtesy of the twins' Extendable-Ears, the concerned adults had decided that Harry would remain at the Burrow, the only safe haven the celebrity boy had for certain. Even St. Mungos had employees who were related to Death Eaters, if not more directly connectioned, Albus had warned, and it had been decided.

"He's alright," Ron began to explain to his tense family, then stopped and sighed. Nobody would know what had happened, Ron thought, but shot a guilty look at his love-sick sister who was taking Harry's self-destruction very hard. Ron tried to not think about what he couldn't understand and hoped was insignificant for his depressed friend: that damn kiss, that heated, passionate, completely unexpected and undeserved act. Ron felt uneasy and strange, but Harry had been so desperate that Ron had immediately forgiven the trustpass. But, there had been something in Harry's eyes afterwards that had thrown Ron. Something almost sinister, intense and unfathomable. Almost like Harry saw him differently, now, and Ron didn't klnow what to make of it. He was tired, too, exhausted even, and asked if somebody else could sleep upstairs that night. He wanted to talk with Hermione, so much that it was a twisting in his gut.

It was very late, and they were alone by the fireplace. It was their favourite spot these days, snug on the worn and comfortable couch, but Ron sensed a gap between them that hadn't been there before. Ron flicked his wand to the empty fireplace resulting in some nice low-key flames, very recently being of age that he was able to do magic outside of school without consequence. He would have been learning to _apperate_ and _disapperate_ too, this summer, had Harry not broken down. As it was, Ron's well-deserved excitement was now none-existent, and nobody had taken too much notice of his birthday, not even himself. Hermione, of course, had gotten him a thoughtful gift and most importantly a hesitant celebratory kiss on the cheek, he remembered affectionately, glancing her way. He was wondering what was bothering the normally forthright witch when Hermione, intelligent face reflecting the soft glowing embers, spoke. "I saw the kiss Ron." She sounded strained and put-out. Ron froze in surprise, and Hermione continued. "Why didn't you tell me it was like that?" She asked, and her light hazel eyes were pools of caution and dashed dreams.

"It's not how it looks, Hermione. I, well. . . I wish it had been you." Ron admitted shyly, feeling his face heat. His sincere, innocent confession was met with silence, until Hermione turned to face him, and her face was so special and honest that Ron's heart nearely burst at her proximity. "Ron, what's going on?" Ron pulled the precious, capable and brilliant girl who was his very good friend close and told her what he had felt, how Harry had responded, and his tentative hope that is meant their friend was recovering, if only a little. Ron didn't tell her, however, how deep he thought was Harry's disturbance, how Harry had seemed so completely broken.

They talked long into the night, and neither could have been more comfortable. But Ron never realized that with his thoughts fixated on Harry's abominable kiss, he forgot about his arousal for Hermione. And Hermione, acting in a fashion that she didn't realize would acutely shape events to come, did not kiss Ron, though she fervently wanted to.


End file.
